


An Epiphany on Blueberries

by LucentPetrichor



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, blueberry muffins are magical I promise you, even if they don't really have any blueberries in them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucentPetrichor/pseuds/LucentPetrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes blueberry muffins are unquestionably the most important things in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Epiphany on Blueberries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salomonderiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salomonderiel/gifts).



Morning dawned, cloudy with a watery kind of sunlight filtering through moody looking clouds. All in all quite calm. Until...

“ _Shit._ Oh my god... Oh my god, I should be out there, shouldn’t I.” The ‘with him’ didn’t need to be said, Éponine heard it anyway.

If Grantaire noticed Éponine’s eyeball rolling, he graciously chose not to acknowledge it.

“Yes, you colossal idiot, now let’s _go_! They left about half an hour ago, we figured we’d let you sleep a bit.” She pulled him out of the kitchenette, grabbing  hats, gloves, scarves, uncaring of whose they were – didn’t really matter; in a house of technically six people but in reality holding about nine, outerwear tended to become communal – and jamming them on as they hurtled down and out the house. Grantaire balked as they got outside, frozen and staring at the deep red beanie in his hands that he had been about to pull over his head.  
Éponine, already several blocks ahead and on the other side of the road, turned back to yell at him when she noticed the lack of a tall dark haired boy running alongside her, “Oi, what’s happened?” She half jogged back to Grantaire’s starting-to-sway-a-bit figure.

“It’s his,” he spoke to the beanie clutched in a death grip.

“Well spotted; yes, it clashes horrible with Courf’s scarf, how sad, let’s go?”

“No, ‘Ponine, it’s _his_.” Grantaire repeated, slightly manic now.

Éponine’s face softened at the steadily growing terrified expression on her oldest friend’s face, “Love, it’s fine – you know everything will be fine.”

Grantaire lowered his hands, beanie clutched in one of them and turned to face her, seeming to shrink in on himself. He murmured, “But what if it’s not? What if he’s not... if this sends us hurtling back into last year’s fuck ups? There’re only so many times you lot can save me from myself.” He drew a shuddering breath.

“Take a leap of faith and trust him. You’re an old cynic trapped inside a boy’s body and that sounds far worse than it was meant to,” she stood on her tip toes and pulled Grantaire’s lanky frame into a hug and spoke into his shoulder, slightly muffled; disguising the break in her voice, “And believe in us, _please_.”  
Drawing back, she tugged the beanie lightly out of Grantaire’s now lax hand, and carefully pulled it over his head. Turning away again, she marched purposefully down the road, hastily scrubbing at her eyes. “C’mon, ya twat, let’s see if you can’t make our Apollo cry. I may or may not have money riding on this.”

Grantaire straightened up and smiled briefly as he made to move after Éponine. Fearless, determined, scary as _fuck_ , and always there for whoever needed her. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how he’d struggled through the years before uni without her. Catching up, he wrapped an arm around her for a moment and breathed a ‘thank you’ to the top of her hat-clad head.

*

One brief side trip to a café to later and they were rounding the corner onto a large green space filled with chattering people, laden down with half of the café’s muffin supply swinging in bags from their arms and carrying as many takeaway coffee cups as they feasibly could. Then it was a simple matter of trying to locate their companions. Not a hard task what with Enjolras’ affinity for red, Jehan’s love of all things flowery and (this month) yellow, and Joly’s paranoia that they would all catch cold this winter prompting a slightly insane knitting spree over a half term leading to colourful hats for all!

Les Amis located with not too much difficulty – save Enjolras who had sloped off in an attempt to find some of his online friends before everything really kicked off – Éponine handed her two coffee cup holders to Feuilly. Megawatt smiles of gratitude at the prospect of delicious-coffee-and-chocolate-flavoured heat broke out as cups were distributed, and Bahorel swept both of them into a bone crunching hug as soon as he was able. Grantaire absent-mindedly handed a muffin to Joly who shrank away from it wailing about a nut intolerance as Grantaire snapped back to attention, looking confused because this was a new one.  
Bossuet plucked the muffin out of his hand and broke it in half to pass a bit to Musichetta beside him. “His tongue felt tingly in the morning and he blamed the bread. You know the weird healthy one with the seeds?” Grantaire nodded. He’d given up trying to understand Joly after about a month of knowing him. There was only so much handkerchief flapping one could tolerate before just going with it without question.

Éponine smirked as she sailed past Musichetta patting Joly’s shoulder and ensconced herself underneath Combeferre’s arm, “So, I have a tenner off Courf ‘cause Grantaire’s here and I’m the bestest friend ever. Now, what did we agree on, again?”

Combeferre looked down at his tiny maybe girlfriend and hummed quietly, “Nothing yet, love.” She poked him in the ribs, making him squeak and shy away from small ticklish-spot-seeking fingers, “Ah, look here comes our fearless leader now.”

Courfeyrac grinned and shuffled closer to Jehan, “Full of love, ire and –“

Jehan poked him in the stomach, “That’s the third time you’ve made the Frank Turner joke today and I swear I will confiscate your CDs and get Feuilly to lock iTunes or _something along those lines_.”

Courfeyrac paled and hugged Jehan close to his front, arms wrapped around skinny shoulders.

“You’re meeeeean,” he whined into a faceful of fluffy yellow hat.

“And yet you still love me.”

“Dammit, I do. I blame dark magic.”

“I promise I didn’t Cruciate anyone this week.”

“Is the verb form ‘to Cruciate’?”

“... It is now. I write things, I’m allowed to make words up.”

Further away, Grantaire was still picking at muffins, looking distant and rather gaunt. Feuilly patted his shoulder and pointed at Enjolras making his way through the crowd back to their group closest to the front, yet to see Grantaire standing there. Grantaire remembered the last view he’d had of that face, screaming the same old argument; just going through the motions. It had hurt more last night than it had before. Possibly because it had been so long since he’d heard the old adage of, “You were doing so well, what the fuck happened?!”

And then it had moved further, both of them no longer caring about restraint, just looking for the softest weakest spots in each other and throwing words to draw blood. It didn’t help that they knew each other’s weak spots even more intimately than ever before. That night had ended with Enjolras pale and shaking, and actually close to _tears_. Grantaire’s throat was still raw and scratchy and he swallowed now, past sandpaper roughness coating his insides, each breath getting harder to take in.

He could no longer breathe properly; only clutch his current muffin too hard, almost reducing what was left of it to squidgy dough-ness. Enjolras looked over. Their eyes met. There were no dramatic organ chords playing in the background, only the loud bustle of the crowd and the rush of blood too loud in Grantaire’s ears. There were no heavenly choruses as a mutual epiphany was reached, only the sight of Grantaire’s stricken face filling Enjolras’ vision as he strode the last few feet to stand almost toe to toe. There was no clap of thunder and the heavens did not open, there was only a squished muffin between two tall figures, one the inverse of the other.

Enjolras looked down at the space between them, “You. You picked all the blueberries out.”

“You hate blueberries.”

“So do you.”

“I only hate the dried – Enjolras, what are we doing?”

Enjolras took a miniscule step back and hesitated before answering with a sigh, “I don’t know, Grantaire,” His face twisted into a grimace, “I don’t _want_ to know. Do you know?”

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be dancing around like this.” His breath hitched, barely noticeable. Enjolras noticed.

“Grantaire, with you, I never know. Every single fucking day... It’s something weird as fuck and new and it’s all you.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, fortifying himself, “Do you have any frigging idea how clichéd you sound?”

“I’m baring my soul here.”

“Then I don’t want to know, either. You think I ever have?”

And then hands were cupping his face and Enjolras was brushing the pad of his thumb over the corner of Grantaire's lips, and then his mouth was slanted just so over his. Grantaire breathed in sharply through his nose and inadvertently parted his lips, and felt a careful lick over his teeth. Enjolras tasted of toothpaste and cold winter mornings, and Grantaire wondered if that was even meant to be within the realms of possibility. Apparently it was. He dropped the muffin and muffled a noise of protest with a hand tightening against Enjolras’ side, the other sliding up his chest to cling on. Enjolras whimpered, _whimpered_ , against Grantaire’s mouth, and locked his arms around his back. Grantaire broke away to rest his forehead against Enjolras’, their faces still close enough to be sharing breath.

“I’m sorry I fell off the wagon. And I’m sorry I didn’t share how difficult shit’s been recently.”

Enjolras moved a hand up to the back of Grantaire’s head to flick him sharply. “I’m sorry for not noticing and just going off on one.”

Someone cleared their throat and Grantaire turned his head to glare at Bahorel, Enjolras’ nose now squished against his cheek before he loosened his grip on Grantaire and turned to look at Bahorel as well.

“So, now we’ve established people are sorry – and thank you for making me about €60 richer – I think we’re about to start yelling and raising a bit of a commotion, if that’s all right with you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Forever thank you to [Abi](http://dannyboy-to-thedoctor.tumblr.com) who beta'd and who this is for because I have been a bad friend lately.
> 
> Comments appreciated.


End file.
